Day 24

Madeline has been on a biking/canoeing/camping trip with her church youth group this weekend. The purpose of the outing was to challenge the kids physically and she was ambivalent about going at first. Only when she was pressed by one of the leaders did she agree to go. Even though it was a busy weekend, I missed her. The house seemed drab without her sparkling commentary on whatever caught her attention--frogs, jewelry, romantic love. And, truth be told, I was worried about how she was holding up. When she called from the road today to say what time she'd be arriving home, I could hear the smile in her voice. I'm grateful she had the courage to try something she knew would be hard. Most of all, I'm grateful she's home.

And a note for posterity: Clark is officially taller than I am, "by a hair," reports Brad. I suppose I'm grateful about that--he's clearly thriving--but also wistful. Incredulous, too. I'll stop now, before I have to add "teary" to the list.

Day 23 (late)

We've had out of town guests for the past few days. I thought that we'd still be entertaining into the evening. Instead they decided to turn in early, leaving Brad and me with no choice (!) but to go out for a quiet drink, just the two of us. I'm grateful for the unexpected opportunity to connect with my husband.

Day 22 (late)

For the first time in years, I have a cold. While I'd like to be able to baby myself by snuggling under my down comforter with my book (The Thirteenth Tale--perfect for Halloween!), that's just not an option. But since I couldn't do that, I planned my work and errands in such a way that I would be checking on my sister's beach house shortly after lunch, when I knew the sun would reach her back deck. I dragged the Adirondack chair into a sunny patch and sat there until the sun warmed my skin and soaked my muscles right through to the bone. I'm grateful I found a way to take care of myself for a few minutes on a busy day.

Day 20 (late)

Nyquil. I'm thankful for Nyquil.

Day 18

The piece I've been wanting to write on "riding shotgun" (when people close to you make big decisions that affect your life) hasn't been coming together for me. Usually by this point in the writing process, I know what I'm doing, but maybe the topic is too broad or I'm too close to it. Lately I've been wondering if I should abandon it altogether. But today I had a great interview with a psychologist who brought some clarity to the subject, and late this afternoon someone who has done some serious "shotgun riding" agreed to talk to me about it. I'm incredibly grateful that these two folks are willing to share their experience and expertise. Their timing couldn't have been better.

Day 17 (late)

Brad came home from work hot and uncharacteristically cranky. I gave him a buy, but I'm thankful he had a busy evening that took him out of the house. I can only be magnanimous for so long.

Day 16

My Great Aunt Chris will turn 101 in a few weeks. My sister Bev and I made the trek to see her today. She's hard of hearing, even with the hearing aid, and she is losing her eyesight. "Everything is getting dimmer," she said. (It reminded me of that old hymn with the chorus, "And the things of earth will grow strangely dim/In the light of His glory and grace.")

Even so, her mind is still pretty sharp--although inconsistently so. She eventually figured out who Bev and I are (Bob's girls) and we had a nice visit. "I have just one question for God when I get to heaven," she said. "Will spirits be able to talk to each other?"

I'm grateful Aunt Chris is still in this world and still curious enough to wonder about the next.

Day 15

Just finished watching Part I of Ken Burn's amazing documentary, The War, which reminded me that hundreds of thousands of American servicemen died during World War II. I'm grateful for their willingness to defend America.

Day 14 (late--notice a pattern here?)

I've finally figured out how Michigan Athletics fits 111,143 people into a stadium that seats only 110,000--they double book seats, the way airlines do, believing that at any given moment, there will be enough people in a row that are enroute to or from the bathroom, or a foodstand, or still tail-gating, that they can actually assign 40 people to a bench that can fit only 30. It's a good idea in theory, but in practice it doesn't work.

I'm grateful that four (four!) U of M ticket holders in our row didn't show up for the game today, so that for once I didn't have to sit with my left bun half on Brad's lap and my right bun half on a stranger's. Michigan winning was just gravy.

Day 13 (late)

Just as we were heading out on the carpool run this morning, I discovered that Diet had died sometime in the night. (Pepsi, our other fish, preceeded him in death awhile ago.) Diet had a long and rich life swimming round and round and round the tank, but Madeline was still devastated. Me, not so much. I threw his little gold body into a sandwich bag and put him in the freezer, knowing Madeline hadn't really had time to say goodbye and that time-honored tradition of flushing him to fishy heaven really wasn't an option.

After school, she called her friend Emma, who came to help out with funeral preparations and the funeral itself, which consisted of a few words of tribute, a prayer, and taps, played by Madeline on her saxophone.

I'm grateful for Emma who, in all her genuine empathy, was able to help Madeline process her grief.

Day 12

There are so many things I could mention today, but I choose A Thousand Splendid Suns because whenever I've been able to steal a few minutes to read, I've completely disappeared into the story. It's like going on a mini-vacation--for free! The downside: I have no inclination to do anything else.

Day 11

Between last night (book club night) and whenever I get the next book-club book from Lois, I'm free to read whatever I want. Oprah magazine is my guilty pleasure, but there's really only so much "up talk" I can take. I've just returned from the library, where I checked out three contenders: A Thousand Splendid Suns, The Thirteenth Tale, and Away. Now I'm baking Daily Bread early so I can dive, guilt-free, into my night of reading.

I'm grateful I live across the street from the library: I never have to be without a good book for long.

Day 10

Maisy is a social dog. I'm not always a social person. Today Essie (another dog who looks so much like Maisy they could be sisters) invited Maisy over to play.

I'm grateful for a doggy playdate on a day when I just didn't feel like being her be-all and end-all.

Day 9

Careful driving happens to be one of my strengths. I wouldn't dream of dialing my cell phone while driving; I hardly ever even answer it if it rings while I'm driving. I use my turn blinker. I check my blind spots, although sometimes without really seeing what's there. You know what I mean.

This morning on the expressway, I checked my blind spot and saw the red SUV I'd seen in my rearview mirror a minute before. I thought, Okay when he's by I can switch lanes. Job done. But then I leaned forward and looked in my side mirror at a slightly different angle, just to make sure, and I saw another red vehicle tailgating the SUV.

I'm grateful that this time instead of a rote check of my blind spot, I did a real check of it. I wish I knew how to do that for the metaphorical blind spots in my life.

Also, I'm grateful I never have to wear panty hose.

Days 6, 7, and 8 late

I spent the weekend at an extended birthday party for a good friend who has a hard time accepting compliments, recognition, and attention. But you know what? This time she did it--she let us tell her how she has made a difference in our lives in some way. She didn't deflect or minimize. She just took it in.

I'm grateful that on her 50th birthday, she graciously accepted our celebration of her.

Day 5

I have at times called my husband a stud muffin; sometimes he misremembers the term and calls himself a stud bucket. This is an endless source of amusement to both of us. Anyway, tonight while shopping I found a little pin that had the word "stud" above a little muffin icon. I slapped down a buck for it and gave it to him when he got home.

I'm grateful I can still make him laugh, and it's not even that hard.

Day 4

On the boardwalk this evening, a couple stopped to pet Maisy. As we stood watching the rays of the setting sun reflecting off the clouds, they talked about their son's dog (a husky with two blue eyes), how long they've been married (34 years), and how they'd raised a gaggle of kids. They said they'd come to the park to offer to pray for people--anyone who wanted it. "Not that everyone has problems," the man said, putting a finger to the rim of his cowboy hat respectfully.

"We don't preach, because that offends people," he said. "We just offer to pray for them."

His wife nodded. "Some people'll let us. Some people'll say, "Yes, you can pray for me. I'm goin' into surgery tomorrow.' So we do."

They were quiet for a minute, perhaps waiting for me to say that I had a problem and could use their prayers. I smiled my best clueless smile, and they said good night and moved on.

I'm grateful for the reminder that each of us has a different calling, a different heart song that gives life meaning.

Day 3

6:15 p.m.
Me: Want to go for a walk?
Madeline (engrossed in the fifth HP): No thanks.
Me (determined to be outside every possible moment between now and when the snow flies): Are you sure? It's really nice out.
Madeline: I'm sure.

6:50 p.m.
Me: Now?
Madeline (flipping a page): No. You go.

7:20 p.m.
Me: How about a walk now? Just a short one?
Madeline (sighing): I guess.

We leash up the Bad Puppy and head toward the lake at a brisk pace to stay warm.

Madeline: I like fall, except that's when school starts. There's more homework in middle school, but I've found that if I just spread stuff out, I'm okay. I can't wait for the Rock and Mineral Show this weekend. I bet you'll go to the Farmers Market tomorrow, right? I think I'm going to adopt someday.
Me: Any baby would be lucky to have you for a mom.
Madeline: I won't adopt a baby. I'll adopt maybe a five- or six-year-old. Or maybe somebody Martha's age.
Me: A five- or six-year-old or someone Martha's age would be lucky to have you, too.
Madeline: I know.

[long pause]

Madeline: It's good that you and me came on this walk because then we had this meaningful discussion.

I'm grateful that today I had the patience to wait until my daughter had a change of heart.

Day 2

One of the things I remember most vividly about my first trip through the book publishing experience was the blue pencil that arrived via Fed Ex with the manuscript the copy editor had marked up. For some reason, it made me feel legit.

Today Mary Margaret Mary Christmas arrived (sans blue pencil, another victim of cost cutting) with the copy editor's neat and polite queries in red lead on yellow sticky notes. At the top of page 54, next to the sentence in which Mary Margaret says, "I pretend I will melt like the Wicked Witch of the North," is a sticky note with this kind suggestion: "West?"

Yes. Of course I meant to write Wicked Witch of the West. I'm grateful for my copy editor's sharp eye and her professionalism. Because even if she pities me, the hapless writer, she never lets her pity show.

(Here's a Q&A I did with a copy editor for my "unsung heroes" series, in case you're interested.}

Day 1

Yesterday my son went to a community picnic with a friend. When he came back, he handed me a fresh peach. "I picked it out for you," he said over his shoulder, already moving on to something else. "It was the best one in the basket." I touched it to my lips for a moment, breathing in the sweetness of late summer.

This morning after my second cup of coffee and my first section of the paper, I sliced the peach, bruised and perfect, onto my Corn Chex. Today I'm grateful for one fresh peach and the thoughtfulness of the young man who chose it.